


Patience is a Demonic Virtue

by Epivet



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Historical Accuracy, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epivet/pseuds/Epivet
Summary: “You can stay at my place, if you like,” Crowley offered gently, just as he had after the eruption of Vesuvius, the sacking of Rome, and countless other disasters.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31
Collections: Name That Author Round Two





	Patience is a Demonic Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the second round of Name that Author for the Good Omen event discord.  
> 500 word limit  
> Prompt: Must contain “I hated that wallpaper, anyway."

“You can stay at my place, if you like,” Crowley offered gently, just as he had after the eruption of Vesuvius, the sacking of Rome, and countless other disasters. The air was still choked with soot and smoke, the sky an unholy red as the sun set. 

“I don’t think my side would approve. I’m in enough trouble for changing the wind to give the neighbors time to flee.” Aziraphale sighed as the strain from five days of inferno caught up with him. 

“Idiots. Angel, you barely made it out yourself. Most of London is in ashes, including your room at the inn. Come to the countryside with me.” Crowley tread carefully. They had practiced this dance for 5700 years, give or take a few decades. He knew Aziraphale would decline, but with each performance the wall between them eroded a bit more. 

Aziraphale gave one last glance at the charred remains of the inn. “I hated that wallpaper, anyway,” Aziraphale tutted. “Ridiculously ostentatious idea, really. It will never catch on. What’s wrong with paintings? Or bookshelves?” 

Stifling a fond smile Crowley waited for the complaints to sputter out, knowing Aziraphale lacked the energy to work himself into a proper rant. A moment later the angel shook his head. A cloud of ash enveloped him as he deflated like a bagpipe.

“At least let me get you a meal,” coaxed Crowley, silently declaring victory when Aziraphale subconsciously patted his stomach. 

A short time later, the pair had settled into a respectable tavern in Bishopsgate. Aziraphale nibbled at some bread, his fatigue blunting his appetite and concerning his companion.

“You’re exhausted.” Crowley paused for objection but finding none he continued. “There’s a room ready for you at Gresham College.”

“Crowley, you can’t just miracle me a room!” Aziraphale fretted, concern reinvigorating his remaining stamina. “Your side would…”

“Shhh. No miracles. They know me. Christopher stays there when he lectures.”

“Ah, your astronomer friend. Very well. My thanks to  _ him _ .” He winked and smiled so unguardedly that Crowley was grateful the dim lighting obscured his blush.

“Shaddup. So, what’s your punishment? For the sin of showing compassion to your neighbors.”

“Well, a great number of churches burned down. I’m to guide the rebuilding efforts. Encourage generosity. Make sure the plans are suitably impressive.”

“You don’t say. Christopher was already working on plans to redesign St Paul’s. He’s quite clever. I’ll introduce you, but right now you need to lie down and rest.” His tone brooked no argument, and so the weary angel followed the protective demon to the college without further protest.

From across the street, Crowley waited until he saw the light in Aziraphale’s room go out. He sauntered away confident that one day the wall between them would fall. He was right; two hundred and seventy-five years later, the metaphorical walls would begin to crumble as literal ones crashed down around them in a church renovated by their mutual friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Christopher Wren is best known as the architect of dozens of churches (re)built after the Great Fire of London. He was appointed Professor of Astronomy at Gresham College, London in 1657. From 1661 until 1668 Wren lived primarily in Oxford, but his appointment required he give weekly lectures in London and was thus provided with a set of room at the college, then situated in Bishopsgate. Despite several important contributions to sciences including astronomy and optics, he is best known for his architecture. As the King's Surveyor of Works he was involved in almost all aspects of rebuilding the city after the Great Fire of London in 1666. It is believed he was in Oxford at the time of the fire but traveled to the capital soon after to assess the damage. He died at 91 and was married for only 9 of those years; both his wives died from illness, just 6 and 3 years after their weddings. He is buried in the building most closely associated with him, St. Paul’s Cathedral. The plaque there reads:  
> SUBTUS CONDITUR HUIUS ECCLESIÆ ET VRBIS CONDITOR CHRISTOPHORUS WREN, QUI VIXIT ANNOS ULTRA NONAGINTA, NON SIBI SED BONO PUBLICO. LECTOR SI MONUMENTUM REQUIRIS CIRCUMSPICE Obijt XXV Feb: An°: MDCCXXIII Æt: XCI.  
> Here in its foundations lies the architect of this church and city, Christopher Wren, who lived beyond ninety years, not for his own profit but for the public good. Reader, if you seek his monument – look around you. Died 25 Feb. 1723, age 91.
> 
> St Dunstan-in-the-East: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Dunstan-in-the-East  
> https://rafaelafranzen.tumblr.com/post/185701931302/the-garden-in-a-ruined-church


End file.
